


Perfect Days are for Wimps

by genagirl



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genagirl/pseuds/genagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A humorous look into Jim and Blair's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Days are for Wimps

Perfect Days are for Wimps

By gena 

 

Blair reined in his excitement, swallowing the laugh which threatened to erupt, 

and met his partner’s sceptical gaze as innocently as he could, which wasn’t 

very.

 

"Trust me, Jim," he begged. There was a moment of silence when the older man’s 

eyes were glassy surfaces giving nothing away and then a crack appeared and the 

tiniest flash of affection shown through just before he ducked his head and 

stared intently at the passing scenery. "Come on, man, just go with me on this," 

Blair continued. "I won’t let you down."

 

"I know you won’t, Chief," Jim sighed and fixed his partner with a gaze so 

confident Blair found it hard to breath for a moment. "It’s just I’d kind of 

planned on vegging today."

 

"Ah, come on," Blair cajoled, swinging the Volvo through Cascade’s early morning 

traffic with ease before heading them out along one of the smaller paved roads, 

"you did that last year. Besides, this birthday is the big 4 - 0." He glanced 

over at his partner, trying to gauge the other man’s reaction. In the three 

years they had been partners, roommates and friends, Blair had never known Jim 

to make a big deal out of his birthday. He shrugged off any mention of a party, 

saying he wanted to spend the day being lazy. It wasn’t like he ignored them, he 

insisted on Blair making him blueberry waffles the morning of February 23rd, but 

other than that he didn’t seem to care. The first year, Blair hadn’t known 

exactly what to do, he’d been flattered, then annoyed when Jim asked for 

waffles, and gone on to gingerly wish Ellison a happy birthday as they ate. The 

second year, he’d made the dreaded waffles and watched as Jim opened the gift 

he’d bought.

 

It hadn’t been much, just a book he’d found in a musty antiques shop, but Jim’s 

pleasure had shown brightly in his eyes. That day he’d lain on the couch reading 

the leather-bound edition of Alexander The Great and declared it the best 

birthday he’d every had. Jim was strange that way; he liked things simple and 

straight forward, no fuss made over anything for him and yet, when it came to 

others he cared about he spared no attention to detail. Blair remembered his own 

birthday in May, he’d woken to a huge breakfast, a trip to the Cascade Mountains 

for some hiking using the expensive new backpack Jim had given him, and then a 

blow-out party at The Golden Dragon. Fifty friends had been there noisily 

wishing him a happy birthday but the one which had meant the most had been the 

quiet "happy birthday, Chief" which had come later in the truck on the way back 

home. Right then and there Blair had begun making plans for Jim’s fortieth. This 

was going to be the perfect day, he had it planned to the letter. He’d risen 

early, whipped up not only the waffles but eggs Benedict, bacon and fresh orange 

juice. Okay, so the eggs had been hard, the bacon black and the juice too pulpy. 

Jim had still smiled, patted his cheek and said ‘thanks, Chief’ with such 

solemnity that Blair had wanted to cry.

 

"Where we going, Chief," Jim asked again, drawing Blair from his introspective 

musings. They had passed the last traces of Cascade some time back, the well 

travelled road giving way to a narrow blacktop which wound through the heavily 

wooded area around Cascade National Park. The snow which had begun falling 

earlier had changed over to sleet, and the slap of the wipers played rhythm for 

the hiss of the labouring heater. "This better not involve farm animals, 

automatic weapons, or air travel," Ellison warned.

 

"Hey, man," Blair said with a laugh, "it’s your birthday. If I’d known about the 

kinky side of James Ellison I could’ve covered those bases." Jim’s grin spread 

itself to Blair’s face and for a split second his attention wandered from the 

road.

 

"Watch out!" Jim reached over, hand closing on the Volvo’s wheel but it was too 

late. A magnificent buck, its rack an amazing fifteen points at least, darted 

out from among the dark trees, landing squarely in front of the Volvo. Sandburg, 

the wheel jerked from his hands, automatically applied the brakes. Time seemed 

to slow as they skidded along the sleet covered road, spinning with sickening 

force. Jim was tossed against him, the heavier body crushing him against the 

door which began to give beneath their combined weight, the handle gouged 

Blair’s side like a knife and brought a groan from his throat. Twice the car 

turned completely around then lurched to the right, plowed through the ditch, 

its fender clipping a massive tree, before settling at a crazy angle half in and 

half out of a tiny stream. "Shit!" Jim swore. His arm had come up across Blair’s 

chest, reinforcing the seat belt’s protection but didn’t stop the smaller man’s 

head from smacking the side window with enough force to make him see stars. 

Blair had no idea how much time passed, but when the haze lifted he was peering 

into Ellison’s panic-stricken face. "Blair! Don’t move, Chief. I’m calling an 

ambulance right now," Jim said and patted his pockets for the cell phone he 

carried.

 

Though he had a headache powerful enough to run a third world country, Sandburg 

knew an ambulance wasn’t needed. Besides, a trip to the hospital would interfere 

with his best laid plans. "I’m okay, Jim," he said quietly. "Really," he added 

when Ellison’s gentle hands continued to probe his skull. "It’s a bump, okay?" 

He slapped away one hand and struggled to get out of the car. Ellison must have 

been using some kind of Star Trek technology because he suddenly materialised on 

Blair’s side of the car, straining to pry the crumpled metal open. "Come on, 

Chief," the older man coaxed, reaching in to grip Sandburg’s elbow, "take it 

easy."

 

"I said I was fine," Blair insisted, though a moment later he was glad for the 

powerful arms lifting him from the car, holding him steady until the world 

stopped spinning. He looked over the twisted sheet of metal that had been his 

fender, "which is more than I can say for my car." The buck had long since 

disappeared, leaving both men staring at empty road. "Shit. Why does this always 

happen? Is there some kind of cosmic law which says I can’t go more than two 

days without a major catastrophe occurring?"

 

"Nah, Chief," Jim assured him, "just business as usual in the Sandburg Zone." 

Keeping one eye on his partner Jim knelt in the slush to examine the car. The 

brush with the tree had torn the metal over the right hand tire, and driven it 

back against the rubber. Not only was the tire flat but with the metal peeled 

back there was no way the car was going anyplace even if they got the spare onto 

it. "We’re going to have to call a tow," Jim said. When he received no answer 

Ellison whirled, half expecting to find his partner collapsed on the road but 

the sight which greeted him left him even more upset than that would have.

 

Sandburg sat on the rear of the listing car, feet swinging listlessly, shoulders 

slumped, hair covering his face. Jim focused his heightened senses on that 

dejected looking figure and quickly came to his friend’s side when he heard the 

erratic breathing and muffled words. "Sandburg?" he questioned. Uncertain of 

what he should do but knowing he had to do something, Jim wrapped both arms 

around the smaller man’s shoulders and pulled him into a gentle embrace.

 

"Blair? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?" He let his sensitive fingers explore the 

broad back, down the quivering sides where he noted the tender area between a 

couple of ribs, and finally up to Blair’s throat. Slowly, carefully, he placed 

his thumbs against the underside of Blair’s chin, feeling the gentle pulse of 

his partner’s heart with more than just his fingertips, still cradling his 

friend’s head in his hands, he lifted. The expressive eyes, which could dance 

with mischief one moment then spark with anger the next, eyes which always 

seemed to carry heartbreaking tenderness when he looked deeply into them were 

hidden by long lashes. Jim didn’t know what to do. He could feel his heart 

banging like a hammer on his ribs and did the only thing which felt - right. He 

leaned close, drinking Blair’s breath in, and pressed his lips to the smooth 

forehead. Sandburg snuffled, his arms came up around Ellison’s waist, holding 

them together.

 

"I’m sorry, Jim," he whispered. "I tried to make today special. I wanted your 

fortieth birthday to be the best day ever and I screwed it up." He opened his 

eyes and the sadness there was too much for Ellison to bear. He didn’t have the 

words to say what flowed through him, how his life had always been empty, barren 

of true emotion until the arrival of his guide. Reaching deep inside himself, 

Jim listened to the spirit which dwelled there and followed the only path which 

opened, the one he knew led to his destiny. Again his lips sought the warmth of 

friendship, of the companion he depended on to make his life the joy it had 

become. He kissed Blair intensely, meshing their souls with the pressure of his 

mouth, forging into reality that which had been between them for years.

 

"It is special," Jim murmured, "any day with you is." His hands crept up to 

tangle in the thick curls, palms soaking up the contact with smooth shaven 

cheeks, thumbs tracing the full lips every time his own lifted to savour another 

patch of skin. He leaned in for another kiss, wanting only to continue the 

sweetness of that mouth pressed to his, but Blair drew away. The skin beneath 

Jim’s fingers superheated, flushed with blood in a way only the mortified can 

ever produce.

 

"God, Jim," Blair moaned, "I’m so sorry! I didn’t....." He slipped from the 

protective ring of Ellison’s arms and stumbled away. Jim stood rooted to the 

spot, unable to think of anything to say. He had no idea what had just occurred, 

only that somehow it had been wrong....though at the time it had felt more right 

than anything else ever had in his life. Desperate to put as much distance 

between himself and his mistake, Jim turned back towards the damaged car.

 

"Uh, I’ll...," he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and held it up. He knew 

he’d been an idiot, he’d misread Sandburg and probably made a mess of their 

friendship in the progress. Wait to go, Ellison, he chided silently, can’t 

accept things as they are, can you? Always asking for more than people can give 

you. Jim couldn’t help the instinctive way his hearing extended until Blair’s 

pounding heart almost overwhelmed him. With a shaking hand, he busied himself 

with the phone. At first he couldn’t understand why nothing happened and only 

when he reined in his hearing and really studied the instrument did he discover 

the problem. The hard plastic case had a crack running from side to side, 

several wires hung loosely from the fissure. "Great!" Jim snapped the cover back 

into place and rammed the phone deep into his pocket. "Hey, Chief," he called, 

glancing back towards the huddled figure of his partner, "did you bring your 

phone?"

 

Sandburg looked up, eyes dark and unreadable, "sorry, man," he shrugged, "I 

wasn’t thinking this morning." Jim nodded, it seemed to be a common condition. 

He looked northward along the road, dialling his sight up until he could see as 

far as possible. The Cascade Panoramic Tower rose above the skyscrapers, a good 

twenty-twenty-five miles away. He shifted to normal vision and glanced up at the 

overcast sky, snow would be falling before they made it five miles. "Jim," 

Blair’s soft voice had him focusing on his partner, "I was...uh, well taking us 

to this place I know." He moved closer, eyes never meeting Ellison’s, "it’s only 

a couple more miles." He waited, expectant as always as his sentinel decided 

their next move.

 

Jim considered their options; hoof it and hope some stray traveller picked them 

up, stay with the car until Simon got worried which wouldn’t be until Sunday 

when they’d arranged to attend a movie together, or head out to this unknown 

destination Blair had picked for them. No contest. Besides, he reasoned, maybe 

they pretend what had just happened between them hadn’t really happened. "Okay, 

Sandburg," he announced, forgetting for an instant, he placed a hand on Blair’s 

shoulder and pushed him towards the car, "let get what we can carry and bug 

out." The instant his hand touched Blair, Jim felt a tongue of fire lance across 

his palm and race up his arm straight to his heart. Once again the certain 

knowledge that he’d do anything to keep Sandburg safe filled him and he found 

himself wanting nothing more than to pull the smaller man into an embrace. Blair 

resisted, the residual embarrassment still fresh in his mind, and Ellison 

quickly dropped his hand to his side and turned away. He didn’t see the flash of 

pain in Blair’s blue eyes or the hand which crept up to finger the place Jim had 

touched. 

 

As they trudged along, Jim leading the way along the slick road, he thought 

about what had just occurred between them. Since Blair had come into his life 

Jim had found himself doing things on impulse; reacting to the feelings inside 

him instead of bottling them up and hoping they’d go away. So when he’d turned 

and seen the sad bedraggled figure he’d done what felt right...he’d kissed 

Blair. Of course he’d done that before, teasing, affectionate kisses, usually 

timed for maximum embarrassment. But this time embarrassment hadn’t been the 

goal; seeing the dispirited figure which had taken the place of a man so 

animated he could have starred in a Disney movie, had provoked in Ellison an 

almost painful need to erase that hurt. Wanting nothing more than to bring back 

the smile he secretly thrived on, the sparkle he lived for, Jim had kissed his 

partner.

 

‘Damnit, Ellison,’ he growled to himself and stomped through another rut filled 

with freezing water, ‘the kid must be convinced you’ve gone gay!’ He snorted, 

shaking his head, ‘okay, so he can join the other two thirds of the station in 

that opinion.’ Having sentinel hearing, Ellison had found out more about his and 

Sandburg’s reputations than he’d ever wanted to know. Blair was universally 

considered the resident lothario, charming women with his looks and intellect, 

flitting from one receptive female to another and never committing to anyone. 

Jim, on the other hand, had been pegged as hopelessly smitten with the younger 

man. His natural reserve, his dateless nights, and his instant devotion to 

Sandburg had all been duly noted by the gossips. Mixing in the fact they lived 

together, vacationed together, and seemed to get along better than any couple 

anyone knew, it couldn’t be ignored. The rumour mill had ground his complicated 

relationship with Sandburg into a simple explanation everyone at the police 

station seemed willing to accept. At the time, Jim had been half tempted to 

dissuade them of the notion, but it hadn’t really seemed worth the effort. How 

would it sound to them if he said he could barely tolerate the chaotic whirl 

people brought to his senses? Only Blair - soothing, calming Blair, could get 

close to him, easy away the pain and let him function in the world. No one could 

understand that, he couldn’t even understand it all himself. Besides, he didn’t 

care what other people thought and denying it wouldn’t keep people from thinking 

what they wanted. 

 

‘You’ve got the name, Ellison,’ he thought, ‘might as well play the game.’ But 

it wasn’t a game. His feelings for Sandburg were stronger than any he’d ever had 

in his life. Blair had taken centre stage in his existence, he’d restructured 

his whole life with his guide as the foundation. In the beginning he’d kept 

reminding himself he needed the kid for help with his senses but that had fallen 

by the wayside eventually. After three years, he’d mastered almost every aspect 

he’d ever need, but the very thought of letting Blair go, of saying goodbye, had 

shaken Jim from a deep sleep, night sweats drenching his sheets, more than once. 

The memory of those sleepless nights, waking in a cold sweat, returned in full 

detail when he was forced to flick moisture from his eyes. Blinking to clear his 

vision, Jim took conscious note of his surroundings and found that the sleet 

which had been falling lightly was now glopping down by the bucketful. 

 

"Jim." The quiet voice sliced through Ellison’s thoughts like a blade. He spun, 

instantly searching for danger. Blair knelt on the side of the road, the knees 

of his jeans soaked, clumps of icy sludge dripping down the denim to pool on his 

bootlaces, all evidence of his having fallen several times already. Jim rushed 

to his partner’s side, one hand resting on the sodden mass of tangled hair, his 

eyes taking in the pale complexion and the bright red splotches frigid air had 

painted on his cheeks. 

 

"Chief!" Jim said, "what happened?" He helped Sandburg standing, sensitive hands 

cataloguing the slightly swollen knee, the trickle of blood from where a rock 

had lacerated his partner’s palm.

 

"I just slipped," Blair admitted. He pulled away, keeping the contact between at 

a bare minimum. "It’s only about a mile up there," he said and pointed through 

the trees at a pockmarked trail which mountain goats would have found difficult 

to climb. "There’s a cabin up there and Mike said they used two-way to 

communicate with the rangers up on Witches Peak." Jim took in the shivering body 

before him, eyes missing no deal and knew they needed to get out of the wet 

before they both caught pneumonia. Unconsciously he’d turned down his sense of 

touch until the freezing rain which continued to fall had been merely an 

annoyance, but now, looking at Blair’s miserable state, he realised he was 

freezing, too. Every muscle in his body had tensed into a knot, its only defense 

against the bitter cold. He forced his shoulders to relax, and slowly uncoiled 

the thick muscles in his back and legs but the cold kept at him.

 

"Are you alright, Chief?" he repeated. Blair’s lips looked blue and he shook 

like clothes hanging on a line. Jim watched his partner, saw the nod which 

indicated Blair refused to admit to defeat and shrugged off his coat anyway and 

settled it around Blair’s shoulders.

 

"No way, man!" Anger deepened the red of Blair’s cold cheeks. He instantly 

started stripped off the heavy garment but Jim’s hands clamped on his. "I am not 

taking this," he said.

 

"Listen to me, Sandburg," Jim almost growled, "you know I can ignore..."

"Ignore the feeling of being cold," Blair interrupted, "not the fact your flesh 

is turning into ice!"

 

"Sandburg, we’ll both freeze if you keep arguing with me!" Using his superior 

strength, he jammed Sandburg’s right arm into one sleeve, spun him around and 

did the same to his left arm, zipped it up to Blair’s chin and as an after 

thought slapped his favourite Jags hat down over the matted curls. The overall 

effect - Blair looking like a child in his father’s coat - brought a chuckle 

from deep inside. "Now, come on," Ellison ordered. Keeping a firm hold on the 

smaller man’s arm he towed Sandburg along, doing his best to disregard the 

muttered dialog concerning his questionable parentage, intelligence, and habit 

of sticking his nose into other people’s business. The rutted road, some kind of 

forest service access road he guessed, made walking a contact sport. Sleet had 

turned the hard packed dirt into a slimy river of mud and it clung to the soles 

of their boots like concrete. At one point Ellison’s foot slipped, sending him 

crashing into Sandburg. Only a small rock which caught Blair’s feet as he too 

slipped, kept them both from plummeting down a steep incline into the forest 

below.

 

"Jim! You okay?" Ellison couldn’t help himself, inside he cursed his weakness, 

but it made no difference to his body. It enjoyed the way Blair’s chest heaved 

against his side, the feel of his partner’s crotch pressed to his thigh, the 

surprisingly powerful arms which closed around him. 

 

"Yeah, I think so," he croaked. The temperature had dropped since they’d left 

the car and the road seemed even steep than it had just a few minutes ago. "How 

far is this place, Chief?"

 

"Not far," Blair assured him, "Mike gave me a map." He fished out the soggy 

paper, leaning closer to Jim so it was sheltered by their bodies as they studied 

it. Jim was astonished to see his hands shaking so hard he could barely hold the 

map but Blair was horrified. "You’re freezing! God, Jim, hypothermia isn’t 

something you can turn off. We have got to get you warmed up!" Some part of 

Ellison’s mind began to laugh hysterically, he realized he suddenly knew exactly 

how he wanted his partner, his best friend, his Blair, to warm him up. Of 

course, telling Sandburg would have sent the younger man running down the hill 

they’d just climbed so fast he’d be gone before Jim’s frozen awareness even 

registered the fact he’d moved. 

 

"Give it a rest, Chief," he murmured. The spot Blair indicated seemed to be a 

tiny cabin of sorts just around the next bend in the road. Jim nodded and pulled 

away from the comforting embrace. "Let’s move," he urged. The memory of warmth 

kept him going. Ellison let his mind call up images of the loft and how the 

whole place glowed orange and gold when he lit the fireplace. Many nights he and 

Blair had sat side by side, music softly playing, Blair working on one of his 

numerous projects, while he covertly watched the younger man. The very air, 

heated by the fire, would rise up over him, enveloping him, filling his lungs 

and sending a feeling of contentment rushing through him. He would let his eyes 

sag closed as the smell of burning wood suffused the place, mingling with the 

scent of his friend working so near and nothing else seemed to matter. Jim let 

himself bask in the illusion, telling himself he could feel the heat from the 

fire, smell the earthy scent of wood and Sandburg.

 

"Jim! Jim, we’re here." Sandburg’s voice shattered the fiction his mind had 

supplied, replacing it with the reality of winter in the Cascade mountains. A 

trace of the phantom warmth remained; two hand sized patches on his upper arms, 

steering him forward the last few steps to the cabin’s shelter. For a moment Jim 

couldn’t see a thing, even squinting, his sentinel sight refused to cooperate 

and the dark interior remained dark. The absence of frigid water sluicing down 

his neck and soaking his flannel shirt, the cessation of an icy wind buffeting 

his exposed skin, combined to send him to his knees. Though the entire place was 

barely above freezing, the difference in temperature overwhelmed his sense of 

touch and felt like flames flashing over his skin. Sandburg’s frantic cries 

brought him back to awareness and managed to coax him to something closer to 

normal.

 

"I-I’m okay, Chief," he rasped, "just a shock." The room held a desk, chair, 

rickety couch and a small kerosene heater. Jim helped as much as he could as 

Blair got him on his feet and staggering towards the couch. "B- be careful," he 

warned when Sandburg dragged the heater as close as he could and began checking 

it for fuel. It took the younger man two tries before he figured out the 

lighting mechanism but then it was only seconds before he had it going. If Jim’s 

abused senses had been shocked by entering the unheated room, the first wave of 

heat sent them off screaming. Pain radiated from his hands, clawing its way up 

his arms, knotting the muscles as it seared a path to his brain. He could feel 

his body curling into a ball, breath coming in sobbing gasps, as he fought 

against it. Gone were the memories of cheery warmth at the loft, supplanted by 

vision of a fiery inferno consuming him limb by limb. Agony became the only 

thing he knew, it flowed through his veins with every beat of his heart until he 

had been reduced to ashes. Jim writhed in the hell his body was providing, lost 

to everything but the rays of pain lancing through him and then slowly, like the 

sun setting over Cascade Bay, it began to recede. 

 

"....deep breath, big guy," came a distant voice, "easy, Jim, just relax." 

Ellison concentrated, following the caress of Blair’s hands over his forehead, 

down his cheek, along his throat. "Just focus on my hands, Jim. Just feel me and 

nothing else." Jim let himself drift on the heaven of the arms holding him, the 

fingers trailing over sensitive skin. He matched his breathing to Sandburg’s, 

linking them in this as they were linked by their roles of Sentinel and Guide. 

Warmth flooded him, not the searing pain of a moment ago, but a fire which 

flared in his heart and filled him from the inside. "I’m sorry, Jim," Blair 

whispered and the feather light touch of lips skimmed his cheek. Though the 

words wouldn’t have been audible to anyone else, Jim heard them and the 

underlying current of despair. 

 

"N-not your fault," Jim maintained. He soaked up the feeling of Blair cradling 

him close, hoarding it like a treasure once lost never to be known again. He 

steeled himself for the moment Sandburg pulled away, for the time Blair 

remembered that his friend had betrayed their friendship with a desire for 

something more. But the arms holding him only tightened and the faint smell of 

salt blossomed in the air.

 

"It is," Blair contended, "my stupid fault." One hand swept across Jim’s wet 

hair, wiping the moisture from the short strands, chafing at his red, raw hands. 

"I planned this big fucking surprise and then I ruined your whole day and 

probably got us stuck out here where you’ll die...." His words ended abruptly, 

snapping off like a twig breaking. Ellison smiled, despite being engulfed in 

tides of weariness, pain, and cold. Blair’s one superstition, like everything 

else about him, centred on the power of words; he never said aloud anything bad 

for fear of giving it form. 

 

"What is the surprise?" Jim asked, more to distract his partner than real 

curiosity.

 

"Oh, the present!" Blair gently pressed Jim back against the cushions of the 

couch and set about stripping Ellison of his wet things. "I, well, Mike, my 

friend in environmental studies, told me of this awesome program." He got the 

soaked flannel shirt off and then bent to remove Jim’s wet boots and socks. For 

several minutes his efforts and the rhythmic tap of sleet against the lone 

window pane were the only sounds in the room and then with a last tug which left 

him sitting on his rump on the cold floor, he grinned. "I adopted a wolf for 

you." Ellison blinked. A wolf! In his mind, he saw a sleek grey form running 

free through the mysterious depths of the forest. So much magic, beauty and 

grace in the stealthy pad of lupine paws.

 

"A wolf," he repeated, delight transforming his haggard features. "You really 

adopted a wolf - for me?" Somehow it seemed so right, as right as the kiss had 

been.

 

"Yeah," Blair breathed. The room was warming steadily, and both men were almost 

comfortable. "I thought you’d like to see him." He rose from the floor and went 

to the desk. After a moment’s hurried search he brought a packet over to Ellison 

and held it out. "I arranged with Mike to leave the info here. This is one of 

the shacks Wolf Pack uses for observation. I’d hoped we could catch sight of the 

pack Baior belongs to."

 

"Baior?"

 

"Yeah, cool name, huh?" Sandburg bounced down beside the detective and pointed 

to the photograph among the pages. "It means ‘guiding spirit’." A slight blush 

crept over Blair’s cheeks and when he met Jim’s eyes he shrugged. "I - I thought 

it was an omen."

 

"A good omen, Chief." Ellison fell quiet, heart filled with wonder at the 

trouble Blair had gone through for him. "Blair, I can’t tell you how much this 

means to me. I - I," he stopped. For only the second time in his life, and the 

first since he’d reached manhood, Jim choked back tears. He looked up, needing 

to make himself understood but afraid of scaring his partner but Sandburg was 

absorbed in studying the glowing grill of the heater.

 

"Jim," Blair’s voice, thin and hollow, never the less filled the silence 

stretched between them. "Jim, before -," he didn’t say when but instinct 

provided Ellison with a crystal clear memory of the exact moment Sandburg meant, 

"before when you...when we...was that just," he shrugged, "just a joke or 

something." Jumping to his feet, Blair stood looking down at Jim, face pale with 

fear, "’cause if it was, no problem! Hey, I can take a joke, man. No one has 

ever accused Blair Sandburg of not having a sense of humour." He backed away, 

and the expression oh his face, the 

‘you-can’t-hurt-me-anymore-than-anyone-else-has’ broke away the last bits of 

plaster encasing Jim’s heart. 

 

Words dried in Jim’s mouth, turning his throat to sawdust. The things he knew he 

should say, the declaration of his devotion, of his love for the man who had 

dragged him from the brink of madness and given him his life back. The soul 

eating need he’d developed to keep Blair safe, the horror of realising someday 

he would be alone again, held his tongue prisoner and Jim found all he could do 

was reach out one hand towards the light which shown in his darkest hours.

Sandburg’s eyes moved, slowly falling away from Ellison’s eyes to follow the 

line of Jim’s arm, down to the tips of his fingers. His own hand came up. 

Ellison felt the movement of air over the tiny hairs on the back of his hand 

just before the slender fingers slipped into his and the warmth of flesh seared 

him almost as painfully as the first waves of heat had. Fatigue forgotten, he 

drew Blair to him, nestling the younger man into his side. His arm, fingers 

still tangled with Sandburg’s, lay across the anthropologist’s back, anchoring 

them together. "Chief," he began, "Blair, what I have locked in here," he 

pressed their joined hands to his chest, right over his heart, "is not a joke. I 

have never wanted...no, needed to be with someone the way I need to be with 

you." He swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. "I can’t go on without 

you. I don’t want you to leave, Blair. I couldn’t....I couldn’t take it if you 

left me."

 

Blair tightened his hold on Jim’s hand then brought it to his lips. The soft 

flesh of his mouth burned like flames and Jim cast himself into the fire 

willingly. He captured Sandburg’s mouth and tried to crawl inside. A sound, a 

word mumbled over and over escaped the seal of their lips. Jim pulled back just 

enough to understand the soft whisper coming from the sweet lips. "Never, never, 

never," Blair vowed. His hands traced a path along Jim’s chest, mapping the 

smooth skin, his fingers so careful they might have belonged to a sentinel. 

Ellison used the space between them to start unbuttoning Blair’s shirt, the 

overwhelming desire to strip his partner bare and hold him for the rest of his 

life the only thing in his mind. Until the explosion.

In reality it wasn’t an explosion. The kerosene heater did not suddenly combust, 

nor did a meteor plummeted from the sky and flattened the cabin, not even 

foreign nationals had taken it into their heads to begin their reign of terror 

by blowing up Cascade’s best police officer and his anthropologist partner. 

Actually it was Simon Banks riding to the rescue at the worst possible time. Jim 

reacted first, bolting upright on the sagging cough, and in the process shoving 

Sandburg to the floor. "What the hell?" The question, rhetorical as it was, 

broke from Ellison and Sandburg’s throats in unison. 

 

Simon Banks was greeted to the sight of Jim Ellison, hair glistening from the 

sleet, bare chested and flushed and Blair Sandburg, equally flushed, clothes in 

disarray and sprawled on the floor at his partner’s feet. The whole scene 

conformed to some warped predestination laid out long before Jim Ellison was 

born on February 23rd, 1962. 

 

"Uh, Simon," Jim began, then fell silent as no other thoughts entered his head. 

Luckily Simon took pity on the two men and explained how a passing motorist had 

reported the abandoned car, which the DMV identified as belonging to Blair.

 

"I know Sandburg’s luck," Simon told them, "I figured I find you both up to your 

necks in trouble." Jim took the opportunity to steal a glance at his partner. 

The resigned look he received in return only made him more determined to wipe it 

away. "Why didn’t you use the two-way?" Banks asked, exploring the cabin as his 

detective and Sandburg shook out their wet clothes and began to dress.

 

"Jim really needed to get warm fast," Blair mumbled. He didn’t meet Ellison’s 

eyes at first but when he did, Jim saw the faint hint of amusement and a promise 

to continue where they’d left off in the warming process. "Hey, Simon, could you 

bring the car a little closer," Blair asked, "I’ll help Jim." Banks gave them 

both a long look but in the end just nodded before heading out the door. In the 

silence which followed the two remaining men merely stared at each other. A 

grin, somehow long-suffering but filled with mirth, broke across Blair’s face. 

"See, the perfect birthday, big guy."

 

Ellison shook his head, chuckling lightly. He moved over to Blair’s side, 

wrapping both arms around the smaller man until he held everything he’d ever 

wanted out of life tightly. He made a promise to himself then and there to never 

take what he’d been give lightly, to thank heaven above for the gift which had 

been placed in his arms as well as his heart. "Absolutely perfect, Chief," he 

agreed, "but the day isn’t over yet." He planted a kiss on the damp curls, "what 

more could go wrong?" 

 

Twelve hours later; twice as wet, colder and more than a little pissed off, he 

cursed himself for even asking the question. But that’s another story all 

together.


End file.
